Same Old Theme
by Cuckoo on a String
Summary: Gotham's Reckoning vs. a pacifist with a stick. It was never going to end well. She saved a man in the street. Now Piper is playing mind games with a terrorist, trying to protect her family, and struggling to save her home. Rated for language and violence.
1. Pacifist with a Stick

Disclaimer: This is all for fun. I do not own any recognizable property of the marvelous (puny) DC.

Chapter Playlist:

The Wolf - Siames

Come Together - Gary Clark Jr. and Junkie XL

 **Chapter One: Pacifist with a Stick**

"It does not do to leave a live dragon out of your calculations, if you live near him."  
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

* * *

A gunshot.

Yelling.

Someone hurt, probably still in danger.

Someone doing the hurting, probably armed.

Just another day in Bane's Gotham.

Piper looked down the street, hoping for a friendly face, or even a vaguely interested bystander. But all the shouting from the next block had driven the locals inside. People hid behind locked doors, quiet as mice. There wasn't even a single scavenger shuffling along with shopping bags full of loot.

Looked like it was up to her. Again

Atrocious timing, though. She'd found all kinds of good things during the day's hunting: food, infant formula, and even a few cans of top shelf dog food. But she couldn't get into a fight with the heavy pack weighing her down. And if she dumped it, it probably wouldn't be there when she came back.

It was times like this she regretted leaving Nana at home.

Christine's voice whispered words of caution in the back of her head, scolding her for an action she hadn't even taken yet.

 _It doesn't always have to be you. We need you more than a stranger on the street. Violence only begets violence._

There really was no one else to help, though. It was just her, the strangers fighting in the alley ahead, and her loaded backpack. Her head told her to drag the goods home and come back later, but her heart insisted there would no longer be a man to save. Of course, her intuition screamed louder than either of them, demanding that she _go_. _Now_.

She tapped her shillelagh against her calf, the heavy, knobbed stick beating a small bruise into her leg as she weighed the pros and cons of a decision she'd already made.

Christine was going to be very disappointed.

Oh well.

"Fuck it."

The pack dropped, the shillelagh fell into a battle grip, and Piper strode into the alley where some poor idiot had met the business end of a gun.

She turned the corner and found one man looming over another. The man on the ground clutched his side, and the red seeping between his fingers stood in lurid contrast to the dingy grey concrete surrounding him. He was still conscious, though, and his legs looked fine. All good things.

Even better, whoever fired the gun was _not_ the current threat. This guy had a big old hunting knife. Piper preferred punks with knives. Using a knife took effort and intention. A gun just needed a twitch to take a life. Knives took more time, and that gave her a window of opportunity. Unfortunately, the assailant wore a noxiously lime green scarf, the latest gang branding for the Jokerz. Gangs moved in groups, so even though Knife Bro didn't have any friends in the alley, they must be close by. Her window of opportunity would be small.

She tapped her staff on the concrete, jarring the attacker's focus.

"Dude," she called, "back down."

He stopped, looked at her, and laughed. The half-delirious victim on the ground didn't seem terribly thrilled by her intervention, either. Piper wasn't offended. She knew what she looked like – a little girl with a big walking stick. Despite her piercings and tattoos, her dark clothes, she was small, and big men rarely respected small women. Hell, even small men rarely respected small women.

Really, men had trouble respecting women in general.

The thug pointed his knife her way. "Or what?"

"Or I will hit you. With my stick." She spoke patiently, slowly, ensuring the man knew his options, but she already knew which one he would take.

Still laughing, Knife Bro came at her. He moved like the untrained, cocky bastard he clearly was. He brought the knife down in a wide arc that he forecasted so well even Gotham's shitty meteorologists could've seen it coming. Piper snapped the knobby end of her fighting stick up to meet his wrist. Then Knife Bro was just Bro.

"Bitch!" he screamed, swinging his left fist at her face.

She blocked him effortlessly, brought the shillelagh around, and sent him down with a clip to his jaw. He did not get back up, and she took a moment to ensure he still had a pulse before she turned her attention to the other guy.

He watched her with sharp eyes veiled by heavy lids. It made him look bored. In any other circumstance, Piper might've bought it, but no one was really bored during a near death experience. No matter how badass. And, judging by the fact that this guy wore the red scarf and military fatigues of Bane's _formal_ army, she assumed he really was quite the badass.

Keeping out of arm's reach, just in case he wasn't feeling friendly, she smiled and rested her weapon against her shoulder, crouching down to discuss the situation on his level.

"Hi."

She leaned to see his wound, but his hand obscured most of her view. "Can you walk?"

"With assistance."

She blinked, surprised to find his cold, focused gaze meeting hers. He seemed like the strong, silent type. Honestly, she hadn't even been sure Bane's soldiers spoke English. Sometimes she really enjoyed being wrong. This would make things much easier.

"Well," she said, reaching out, "I'm happy to assist."

He smacked her palm away with a pained grunt, and Piper rolled her eyes.

"Let's cut the crap. What will it take for you to let me help you out of here? I mean, I'd invite you to search me, but you can't even stand right now, so…" She left her hand hanging between them, an open invitation of support and aid. "Besides." She grinned. "You've already seen my stick."

The mercenary glared at her even as he grudgingly let her pull his arm around her shoulders. "Why are you helping me?"

Feet pounded down the road behind them, back the way Piper came from, and angry voices sparked all around like firecrackers. They weren't safe, and they didn't have time for twenty questions. She pulled the guy to his feet and started forward.

Worried, distracted, Piper fell into old habits and buried her anxieties in snark.

"Because you just got shot."

He stopped then, forcing her to halt with the arm that had now twined threateningly around her neck. "Answer the question."

She grunted as the arm drew tighter and made a little show of slapping his hand, but he clearly wasn't moving without that answer, so she bit the bullet and snapped, "I don't leave people to bleed out on the streets."

The arm loosened – a little – and they continued on. Piper felt the man's hot blood soaking into her shirt. What an asshole.

"You support Gotham's liberation?"

She snorted. "Not in the way your boss wants, no."

His eyes pierced her. She could feel his gaze trying to burn away her skin, blast through her skull, and dig straight into her brain.

"Then why?"

"You could just make up a reason," she grunted, peeping over her shoulder to make sure Knife Bro was still unconscious. "It's not like we'll be seeing each other again soon."

"I would not assume such things so hastily," the mercenary cautioned. His tone was anything but friendly, but Piper was used to that.

Men didn't like help they couldn't explain. They really didn't like help at all, especially when they made a career out of being big, bad, and scary. Casual threats were just part of the wounded machismo leaking out.

But she couldn't have him following her home. That would put the kids in danger. So she told him the truth. "I'm a pacifist. I conscientiously object to watching people cradle their own intestines."

The man actually threw his head back and laughed. Piper took her turn to glower at him.

Rude.

At least he hadn't spit on her.

"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up, Chuckles."

She could feel him looking at her again as they struggled forward.

"You just beat a man unconscious."

If it weren't for his big arm restricting her shoulders, she might've shrugged. "I'm a pacifist with a stick."

"You are a fool."

"And you are _heavy_. Please tell me you have friends nearby who can pick you up?"

He nodded, once. "They should be very near."

"Good." She shifted his arm on her shoulders and tried to quicken the pace. "I don't think our friend came to this party alone, either."

After several long, agonizing minutes of gimping and dragging, they finally made their sweaty, sticky way around the corner.

A face-full of guns greeted them.

Fortunately, the scarves behind the muzzles were all red.

Two men immediately swooped in to relieve her of her burden, and three more kept rifles trained on her head. She lifted her hands, keeping them visible on either side of her head. Her chosen burden grew much happier back in the company of his fellows, and he actually wore an almost _mischievous_ frown as he turned back to Piper.

"Name?"

She adopted a casual stance, propping a hand on her hip and maintaining her easy smile. No threat. Only a mild annoyance. Besides, what was in a name?

"Piper."

He raised his eyebrows, clearly waiting for the family name, and one of his men took the initiative to nudge her with his gun. The guy was a little aggressive about it, and she flinched. She told herself it was more out of irritation than pain.

"Bachman. Piper Bachman. Please get your gun out of my kidney."

He accepted her answer with a nod and signaled his troops. They all stepped away, moving in a coordinated flock of red scarves and dark fatigues towards a nearby SUV. None of them looked back at her, and she couldn't help wondering why they wanted her fucking family name so badly when they obviously didn't perceive her as any kind of threat. Piper waited until they were all loaded up and down the street before she allowed herself to deflate.

Her fingernails skimmed along her scalp as she took a deep, desperate breath.

Had she just made a terrible mistake?

She retraced her steps through the alley cautiously, wary of the distant hoots and hollers of the Jokerz. The dirty pavement sported no dead bodies, and Knifeless Bro was nowhere in sight. Good. She hadn't hit him too hard. Still, the last thing she needed was to place herself on his gang's hit list. This was the first she'd heard of a turf war in the area. She'd need to pass on the word before someone else found themselves in the crossfire.

When she reached the place she'd left her pack, she found spent bullet casings, a Jokerz tag, and an empty energy bar wrapper from the food she'd planned to drag home.

"Fuck it all."

* * *

Piper liked books.

Fortunately, their new dictator had an apparent fondness for the printed word as well, and he decreed that at least one library should remain open for public use. Well. He _suggested_ it. The same way he _suggested_ the "people" storm Blackgate.

Unfortunately, the library that stayed open was the downtown branch. The one half a block from the courthouse. It was the throbbing heart of Bane's little empire, full of the ugliest, angriest people in Gotham.

Two weeks into the occupation, however, and even the frenzied mob at the heart of the city had taken at least half a chill pill. Nowhere was safe at night, but the territory most heavily populated by the mercenaries was at least vaguely orderly. Very vaguely. But it was enough of an excuse for Piper to go after some books.

No one knew how long this little nightmare would last, and they had an obligation to the kids.

To do right by their adopted horde, Piper and Christine needed to limit the damage this invasion would do to their futures. That included their future education. And though both women were affirmed bibliophiles, they simply did not have the books to replace a K-12 schooling. Not that any of thechildren who landed in their care were in high school. Thank stars. Piper had enough drama in her life without teenage hormones running amuck in her space.

She waited until her primary contact, George, gave her the all clear. Then she grabbed three backpacks and the two oldest squatters – Tom and Aesha, twelve and nine respectively – to address the education conundrum. It was a slight risk, but at this point even standing still and facing the wall in a locked basement was a risk in Gotham. And George wouldn't give her the all clear unless it really, truly was.

It was dangerous. But they couldn't keep the kids – especially the older ones – locked up forever. Better they go out with Piper and drain some of their cabin fever than have them sneaking out at night.

Chrstine wasn't happy.

That was okay.

Piper would calm her down with a good smutty novel. Everyone had their weaknesses. Piper knew her cousin's well.

Aesha started complaining about the walk after the first five minutes. By the time they reached Bane's territory proper, she was practically keening her woes.

"Keeping whining and I'll make you do fucking laps around the house before breakfast every day," Piper said.

Aesha gasped loudly – for purely dramatic effect. They both knew Piper would never send her out alone. "I'm gonna tell Christine you swore in front of us again."

"Like she doesn't know."

In truth, the idea of Christine's rage wasn't all that fun.

"If you don't tell her, you can pick out some DVDs."

Tom perked up. "No shit?"

"No shit."

She didn't have to tell the kids to hush as they approached the first line of men in paramilitary garb. Kids were scared of glowering men with guns. Go figure. Piper carried her shillelagh like a walking stick, carefully keeping her eyes up but away from the guards. She was not a threat, and she wasn't prey, either. Blending in with the kids wasn't an option. They were too noticeable. Too weak. Still, walking with purpose and confidence dissuaded a surprising number of potential assailants, and if she didn't give Bane's mercs an excuse to fuck with her, they'd generally leave her be. She looked enough like the angry mob they stoked that they usually just assumed she was one of them.

At least they didn't have to pass directly in front of the courthouse.

The asshole who bled on her shirt was probably in there somewhere. Cold-eyed bastard.

When they passed through the front doors of the library, she didn't bother hiding her sigh of relief – or her deep sniff. Oh, she loved the smell of books. Familiar and warm. Just like home.

A voice echoed through the empty lobby to greet them.

"Oh, good! I was hoping you'd come today!"

Piper followed the voice to the main desk, where a charming woman with half-grayed hair stood primly, smiling past Piper at the children.

"Hello, Helen." She dropped her empty bag on the table and groaned. "That really is a long-ass walk."

"Swearing in front of the kids again, you little shit?"

Piper grinned as Helen frowned at the big – thoroughly gray – man lounging in a desk chair behind her.

"George," Helen breathlessly chastised.

George just smiled, stood, and swaggered up to the desk to give his wife a peck on the cheek. "Helen."

Aesha gagged. As the girl complained, Piper got down to business.

"I believe you have some books for us?"

Helen's eyes lit up. "Yes!"

George ducked and reappeared with a massive crate in his arms. The thud as it landed on the desk actually echoed. Piper gawped.

"Dear. God."

"I'm not sure you need all of them," Helen said apologetically, "but Christine's note was a little vague on the ages, and I thought you could just look through and take what you need…?"

Piper nodded slowly, her back unkinking from the imaginary weight it expected to bear. "Sure. Yeah. Do you have time to maybe give some advice?"

Tom cleared his throat, and Piper rolled her eyes. "Georgie Porgie Puddin' Pie, would you please escort these hooligans to the DVDs while we do this? I might have bribed them into silence."

"Sure." George planted a hand on each kid's shoulder and steered them away. "Tom, right? You're almost a grown-up. Seen _Pulp Fiction_ yet?"

Piper took a deep breath, counting down from ten, and assuring herself that George just wanted to wind her up. If Tom really did come back with an R rated film, she believed Helen would forgive the sudden and brutal murder of her husband.

It didn't take them much time to sort through Helen's selections, and Piper was thrilled to find that several of the larger textbooks did double-duty for the younger children. It would be a relatively light load between the three of them. Bringing the pack mules really had been a good idea.

She had space for some _fun_ reading.

Assured that the children were safe with George, Piper left the stack of educational materials with Helen to roam the shelves on her own. First, she fulfilled her silent promise to provide smut for Chris. She already had all the _Outlander_ books – of course – so she picked a few thicker bodice rippers from the romance section at random. Then she went to sate her own needs. Although the fantasy novels called to her, she had all the necessities at home. Better to get something fresh. Things she'd been meaning to read but had never found the time for. _Black Elk Speaks_ made the cut along with _A Tale of Two Cities_ , a collection of Greek tragedies, and a copy of _Dune_ – a book she'd been promising to read for nearly a decade.

Nothing like the end of the world to motivate her to finish up that reading list.

George and the kids were waiting for her at the main desk. He cut a strange figure next to the two kids in his bright orange prison jumpsuit. But Piper knew that eye-sore of an outfit did more to protect the library and the people in it than any words of Bane's.

Seeing her approach, George stepped away from the desk, gesturing for her to follow him. She followed. Once they were hidden by the stairs, he brought his big, tattooed hands down on her shoulders and gave her a painfully serious look.

"You holding together, you little shit?"

She took a breath deep enough to physically lift his hands and forced a lopsided smile. "Sure. The city's on fire, we're running low on everything, and we have _fourteen_ kids to look after. All day. Every day. And most of those days I still have to go out and scavenge. Or meet up with one of the community leaders to talk resources. Or chase off one of the pedos who like to lurk around the windows at night. So, yeah, Georgie, I'm perfectly fine."

"I can't do much about any of that," the man said, "but I could ask some of the others to patrol the area at night. Scare off the lurkers?"

"That would be great, actually." Piper's smile grew a little stronger. "The Cat stays on the prowl, but she has a big territory to patrol, and the daily stuff is really up to me. The creeps are learning to fear the Stupid Stick, but I'm already so fucking tired, and that's only gonna get worse."

George nodded, true understanding in his eyes. "Is Christine having mood swings?"

She pulled a straight face for comic effect. "Yeah. And cravings. She's either crying or wondering how to cook lo mien with spaghetti and canned chicken. It's sad, really."

"And it's only going to get worse."

"Thanks for the pep talk."

"You're welcome."

With her side of the pleasantries and reassurances out of the way, it was her turn to lance to boil of George's worst fears.

"How are you and Helen? Being this close to Bane can't be easy." She softened as she spoke, letting her fingers brush his elbow to emphasize her proximity and support. Even if he'd had to do bad things to keep Helen safe, she'd understand. The fact that it was his wife of all people running the library suggested a long and complicated story. She doubted he'd share it, but she could always make the offer to listen.

He took a stuttering breath, almost unconsciously glancing in the direction of City Hall.

"We're surviving. That's more than a lot of people can say, isn't it?"

Piper acknowledged his choice to bear his own burdens and withdrew a fraction of an inch. Still close. Still within reach. But far enough to keep them both comfortable.

"If any of the other Blackgate men give you problems, will you let me know?"

"You don't need to do that, Piper." He sounded exasperated, but also tired, and desperation clung to her name. Desperate to keep her out of harm's way. Desperate to save his own family. He understood her influence – she had it with him, after all – but he didn't want to use her as a shield.

Unfortunately this was one thing she wouldn't back down on. Mental health would be screwed across the board after this adventure, but she would protect as many physical lives as she could. Just telling him that wouldn't get her what she wanted, though.

"Consider it a family tradition," she said, a teasing smile cutting back over her face.

 _Forget the kid,_ she thought. _Remember the punk._

Slowly, acceptance filled his eyes. She would be involved with the other cons whether or not he told her about developing problems. This was best for both of them. Maybe he could warn her. Maybe she could keep Helen safe.

"Just don't do anything stupid."

That was more like it.

"Oh, I never make promises I can't keep."

He turned back towards the front desk, and once again, Piper trailed after him.

"By the way," he said, tone suspiciously lighthearted, "Pastor Jeff wants to see you. Something about resource management and kids' clothes."

" _Fuck_ me."

"I'm married, you little shit. And I've known you since your mom washed your mouth out with soap for that kind of language."

"Are you kidding? Mom high-fived me when I learned to swear. That was dad with the soap."

George grunted. "Right. Anabaptist."

"Yup."

"Glad you took after your mom."

"Shut up, you old fuck."

"There, you see? Just like her."

Helen and the kids were looking at the door as Piper and George returned, and Piper glanced out to see what had their attention. There were certainly more people on the street than there had been when they arrived. But that could mean anything.

The passing bodies cast long shadows over the lobby.

"Helen?"

"It's getting loud," she said, a strained smile betraying her fear. "You all best be heading home."

"Okay."

Piper allotted the books and movies to the three packs, carefully noting the titles and barcodes for Helen's hand-written records. She moved quickly, efficiently, and the kids picked up on the mood. Tom's dad was a cop. Aesha didn't talk about her family, but she clearly wasn't expecting anyone to come find her, which Piper assumed meant she came from a foster or group home. She hadn't just picked them because they were the oldest. They also had a better understanding of how the world worked. When Piper said jump, they would. They also had long legs suitable for running.

Helen hugged them all, and George escorted them out to the street.

The roar of angry voices, heaving bodies, and stamping feet hit them like a wall.

"I'll walk you down the block," he said, eyeing the burgeoning mob.

Glass shattered. Someone laughed. Someone screamed. A guard – probably – fired a warning shot – probably.

Piper tightened her grip on her shillelagh and nodded. "Thanks."

* * *

Bane took a long breath, admiring the chaos spreading at his feet with satisfaction. In a few hours, the Scarecrow would reign over the courtroom again, and already Gotham's citizens foamed at the mouth, ready to feed on another damn soul's fear and death to block out their own dread. He admired their enthusiasm, and he appreciated their caution. His men stood above the fray, armed and untouched.

Thus far, the majority of the city's more active inhabitants seemed perfectly happy to rip the heads off their own people, rather than turning on the men with the bomb.

He hoped the media would collect vivid images of the day's expected slaughter for the broken man in the Pit.

"Sir."

With his nod, Barsad stepped up to his side. Gesturing with the butt of his gun, his second indicated a group exiting the library.

"The pacifist."

Bane narrowed his eyes, picking the fool out of the gathering crowd. She was small, as Barsad had said, and if it weren't for the heavy knot of brown curls at the back of her head, she would've been almost androgynous. She carried her apparent weapon of choice, a long, knobbed stick, over her shoulder.

But she wasn't alone. A man from Blackgate walked beside her, and two children pressed close to her sides.

The little troop walked, unhurriedly, along the far sidewalk, stopping to speak with several other men in orange.

What was strange was that these armed, angry men didn't turn to their fellow in orange. They greeted the girl. Even a few of the mobbing citizens approached her. There were no catcalls. No leers. Only a few distant predators eyeing the children. His wild band of revolutionaries, even those explicitly sworn to his side, responded to this strange little thing as one of their own.

No.

More than that.

They almost treated her with _respect_.

And all she had was that crooked stick.

Bane was very curious to know how she had earned herself such recognition.

Barsad had told him the full story – an incompetent spotter and a shot in the back – and while he'd shared his second's amusement at the little pacifist and her stick, he hadn't seen a need to seek her out. He assumed her own people would tear her apart soon enough.

He was beginning to rethink that assessment.

She clearly wielded some form of authority, and muted as it was, she could make his work more complicated if she used that power against his cause.

Clearly, she had no problem interfering.

The group reached the end of the block, and the man in orange broke away, heading back towards the library as the woman and children continued on. Bane nodded towards the man, lifting one hand to grasp his collar.

"Bring him to me."

As his second trotted off to fulfill his order, Bane strode back between the grand columns and into the echoing chambers of Gotham's hall of justice. It made, he found, a powerful symbol, especially in the eyes of those he liberated from behind bars.

Crane's towering seat also reminded all those beneath of the consequences of failure, cowardice, and refusal.

Bane rested against the wall, lurking at the edge of the crowd's noise and confusion, and pulled a twist of paracord from his pocket. The loops and knots narrowed his focus, gave his busy fingers something to do besides hang at his sides. His mind picked apart problems as the knots soothed away the irritation of inaction. It was an old habit, a simple one, and perhaps that was why he had carried it with him through hell and halfway around the globe.

The mob continued to swarm about, kept in their place by his mercenaries' silent threat, and Barsad appeared, leading the man who seemed so close to the rogue pacifist.

Bane didn't look up from his work. He left the man standing there as he continued his pointless task. It was a message.

This man's life was not important.

The lives of those around him were not important.

They all rested in his palm.

Only after completing his knot, unwinding it again, and snapping the cord taut did he speak. But his eyes stayed on his own hands as the next knot began to take shape.

"Tell me about the pacifist."

The convict stiffened. His posture betrayed an urge to flee. Perhaps to warn the girl. However they were connected, he was loyal. The connection was personal, not merely professional. He may even care for her.

"She's a good girl. She won't cause trouble."

Bane lifted his eyes languidly, pinning the man's gaze mercilessly.

"So you believe she is _capable_ of… causing trouble?"

Blanching, the convict jerked back. "No! No, she isn't. She _couldn't_ cause any trouble."

His eyes wandered back down to his hands, and he left the silence hanging before he delivered his verdict.

" _Really?_ "

The man talked fast, trying to walk the conversation back. "Like you said, she's a pacifist. She doesn't do violence."

Waving towards Barsad, he said, "My second saw her beat a man unconscious."

"Self defense?" the man asked, almost comically hopeful.

Bane didn't laugh.

"No."

He tied off his knot and tucked away the paracord, giving the subject of his inquiry his full and undivided attention. The man did not bear it well.

"How do you know her?"

The man shifted from foot to foot, clearly trying to decide how much he ought to reveal.

Bane sighed.

"Your wife is the brave volunteer who runs the people's library, is she not?"

The shifting stopped.

In a light, curious voice, Bane mused, "Perhaps she would enjoy a closer view of today's trial?"

"No – no, that won't be necessary." Eyes shining, the convict folded his fingernails into his palms. Clearly, he no longer suffered the delusion that he had any choice here.

"I met her ages ago. During my first prison sentence. Her mother was very involved in advocacy and reintegration for prisoners. She brought the kid sometimes, to open visiting days, to remind us what was waiting on the outside."

Something deep and cold stilled inside Bane. He nodded, slowly, bringing his arms up to cross over his chest.

The convict continued, a wealth of knowledge now that he understood the stakes. "Not everybody had a family that wanted to visit. We played card games with her. She drew pictures. Made penpals. That kind of thing."

"I see how a child in a prison would be memorable. But how do the others," he waved in a general manner, taking in all the orange jumpsuits in the area, "recognize a girl who used to visit a few men with her mother."

"She stayed involved," the convict admitted. An awkward rhythm danced over his painfully drawn words. Betrayal was new to him, a language with which he was painfully unfamiliar. "I guess you could call her an advocate. She protested the Dent Act, did everything she could for inmates who were willing to accept her help once she was old enough. Reconnected families. Tried to arrange protection for some of the more vulnerable inmates. Brought care packages every few weeks."

A begrudging smile at the warm memory sank into a frown as the man remembered he was betraying the same woman he described. "I know she landed in jail a few times during protests, but she hasn't gotten in trouble with anybody since she came back –"

"Back?" Bane asked lazily. "She left?"

Something hard flickered over the man's face. "Trouble with a gang."

Bane hummed low in his throat. It wasn't a terribly descriptive explanation, but he didn't particularly need or care to know the full story. He had enough now to confirm his suspicion that she could be trouble.

But he could also use her connection to the men of Blackgate to his benefit. A pacifist should make a rather well-behaved pawn. And she'd already gone out of her way to make his job a little easier by interceding for Barsad. Certainly he owed her a visit for her efforts?

He straightened from the wall, rising gradually to tower over the prisoner who had betrayed the light of his darkest days to the hands of a monster.

"Thank you." He dismissed the man, both from the conversation and his consideration. "Give Barsad your friend's address. And please give my regards to your brave wife."

* * *

The address Barsad forced from the Judas in orange led them to a modest family home in the East End. Clean, but not particularly well-maintained. Paint faded with age, drooping gutters, and shuttered windows. Like most of the other abodes on the block, nothing special. Nothing to indicate what a spectacular kind of idiot slept within.

Bane left his escort to stand guard on the street, only taking Barsad with him to the door.

He didn't even have to knock.

The blue door swung inward to reveal a young woman holding a dog's leash. Mid-sized, brown haired. As ordinary as her home. She wasn't the young woman who'd left the library earlier that day, but there might be a family resemblance.

Occupied with her gigantic mastiff, she didn't immediately notice the men on her doorstep.

The dog did.

She didn't openly snarl, but a low growl rumbled through her burly chest as Barsad lifted his rifle. Bane signaled for his man to stand down, confident that the woman wouldn't loose her pet. That would be a very strange sort of pacifist indeed. Besides, he had never relied on guns to instill fear, and he'd hate to teach this new asset to worry over bullets more than his wrath.

Finally, the woman looked up.

She gasped, her eyes widening with instant recognition and dread as her hand dropped to cover her lower stomach. The gesture drew Bane's eye, and through her fitted sweater he could just see her gut pressing out against the cloth. The protective motion told him more than the bump itself that she was certainly with child.

He smiled down at her, entirely aware of her rising fear, and grasped the lapels of his coat. Tilting his head down, he indicated the clear bump defended by her palm.

"I see congratulations are in order!"

"What – I…?"

The dog curled its lip, and the expecting mother grabbed the leash with both hands, pulling the beast back.

"Nana, down!"

As she hauled the wary mastiff back into the house, Bane stepped in to fill the empty space. He let her lead them more or less into her home, and as foolish as she may be, she didn't try to stop him. The small entry space was littered with photos, dog toys, and children's shoes. Many, _many_ little shoes. But the only item of significance was the familiar, knobby stick resting by the door. He only spared it a cursory glance, confirming that the librarian's husband hadn't lied to him. The woman wouldn't escape his scrutiny so easily. He wanted answers, and this woman would point him to the little idiot who could give them to him.

The woman was still wrestling with the dog, which seemed determined to put itself between its mistress and the invader, and she clearly didn't have the strength to handle her guard and her unwelcome guest at the same time.

Bane watched with detached interest, letting the tension build as the woman's fear and panic boiled over. Barsad stepped up behind him, closing the door with a very final _thud_.

"Christine? Why is Nana –"

The adults turned as one to see a little girl with an even smaller child holding her hand. She'd frozen as she turned the corner at the end of the hall, like a little fawn in headlights, eyes locked on the men towering over her – mother? Guardian? Sister? The child caught her breath, and the little one she held yowled as her escort's grip tightened.

"Aesha," the woman said, the child's fear granting her control of her own, "take Nana. Go back to the kitchen, okay?"

Still, the child could not stop staring. Horrified. Captivated.

Bane smiled.

"Aesha!"

With a jolt, the girl jumped back to life, dropping the toddler's hand in exchange for the dog's leash. Murmuring to the beast, the girl – Aesha – pulled it away and out of sight. The toddler, on the other hand, didn't seem at all interested in leaving the adult, and she glommed onto her leg with a stubborn kind of love.

Like the older child, she stared fixedly at Bane. He met her gaze evenly. Few things could riddle out secrets and pierce the soul like a child's naked curiosity.

The woman chose to break the silence. "What do you want?" Throughout the exchange, the young mother stayed between the men and the children, as protective as her dog. She was very aware of her weakness, but the urge to shield the weaker creatures in her care overrode the instinct for her own self-preservation.

Mothers were ever the same.

"I am looking for someone." He kept his voice bright, enjoying the illusionary choices this little family did not have. "A young woman. She assisted my second the other day." He indicated Barsad. "I saw her… weapon by the door."

The woman knew exactly who he was talking about. He could see it in her eyes. But he also saw reluctance and the fear that came from loyalty and care.

He hoped, for her sake and the sake of the child she carried, that she would cooperate.

Just then, quiet giggles, like little bells, peeled down the stairs, and the woman stiffened so swiftly she actually jerked. Bane's attention followed the sound, and he canted his head to better hear through the straps of his mask. As he listened, he found more evidence of little ones on the floor above. Although no creaking floor or pattering steps betrayed active play, children were never truly still. Rustles carried, and the childish anticipation (for _what?_ ) brightened the air.

If he had to hazard a guess, the little idiot of Barsad's acquaintance must be upstairs with the rest of the brood.

Judging by the abject horror on the little mother's face, he had guessed correctly.

* * *

 _"I am looking for someone to share in an adventure that I am arranging, and it's very difficult to find anyone."_

Piper didn't have the best voice for a wizard, but the children didn't seem to mind.

As she narrated Gandalf's introduction to Bilbo, all the little eyes in the room remained fixed on her. The book sat propped open in her lap – a gorgeous, illustrated edition her father gave her for her eighth birthday – but she knew these scenes so well, she could almost quote them by heart. That boosted her recital finesse significantly. Not only could she do the voices (badly), but she'd grabbed a few bits from around the room to use as props. Her acting skills wouldn't land her on Broadway, but they dazzled the little ones.

Good thing Aesha stayed downstairs to help with Allie. God knew she'd roll her eyes so hard at Piper's performance they'd fall out of her head.

She transformed quickly into Bilbo, grabbing a vaguely pipe-shaped bubble wand to smoke as she spluttered in indignation.

 _"I should think so — in these parts! We are plain quiet folk and have no use for adventures. Nasty disturbing uncomfortable things! Make you late for dinner!"_

The children tittered. Even Tom smiled a little. He thought he was so grown up – much too mature for fairytales. He wasn't old enough yet to understand that only adults could really understand such little fantasies, but he was still young enough to enjoy them, no matter what he thought. Piper was glad. The kid could use more smiles in his life.

The stairs creaked. Must be bedtime. Christine was a good mom. Nice and punctual. Not even story time was allowed to interfere with their tiny squatters' beauty sleep. Better finish the scene quickly, or the kids might revolt.

 _"Sorry! I don't want any adventures, thank you. Not Today. Good morning! But please come to tea -any time you like! Why not tomorrow? Good bye!"_

She snapped the book shut and smiled at her groaning audience.

"Auntie Piper," Beth said, peering up with her big doe eyes. "Just one more page? Please?"

"Don't look at me like that," Piper begged. "You know I'd read the whole book tonight, but your mother would strangle me and I really enjoy breathing."

Her niece sighed and flopped so her head rested on Piper's knee. She stroked the curly mop, careful to keep her fingers out of the loops so she wouldn't pull. It was family hair. A distinctive trait of the Bachmann family lineage. Poor thing would be fighting it for the rest of her natural life.

Launching a sigh of her own, Piper looked towards the stairs, expecting to see her cousin's own mess of curls at the top step as the dozen children in the room began to stretch and grumble.

Instead her hand stilled on Beth's head, and her blood froze.

A nightmare stood there, eating all the light in the room save for the shards glinting off his horrible, fanged mask. And his eyes. They devoured the warm scene laid out before him with violent delight. So man little bodies for him to break. Piper was moving before she even realized she'd moved Beth off her lap.

And then she was standing in front of him. Gotham's liberator. A warlord who had no problem snapping a man's neck on national television and sending entire families tumbling into shallow graves.

His hands gripped the broad collar of his sheerling coat, emphasizing his bulk as he looked down at her with an arcane twinkle in his eyes.

She took a breath.

What did you say to an armed terrorist standing in your home?

Piper smiled up at him, looking past the mask and directly into his eyes.

"Failtè."

 **A/N: So, this is something I've been working on for months. I actually have a full outline for this whopper of a project, and I'd be happy to continue if there is interest. Otherwise I may just putter around with it in my spare time. Readers of other fics - don't worry, they are still in progress. At least one will get an update tomorrow.**

 **There's a lot of personal background buried in this fic, and while Piper is pretty damn far from a self-insert, a lot of her story is loosely inspired by my own experiences, particularly with pacifism, Northern Ireland, and some other things we'll get into later. Now, before anyone starts throwing stones, Piper is a _type_ of pacifist, and she's in extraordinary circumstances. Not all pacifists believe limited violence in defense against an immediate threat is completely off the table. They do, however, see it as a shameful last resort. Piper is also involved in "active" pacifism, which will be explored later. Feel free to ask questions, and I'll do my best to answer or point you to resources that would do a better job.**

 **This story is gonna be fucking intense, so if you're interested in seeing more on here, please drop a review and feed the starving writer! I will need the support. It's gonna be a challenge, but I want to push myself as a writer and thinker.  
**

 **Translation:**

 **Failtè = welcome  
**


	2. The Dragon

Chapter Playlist:

In the Woods Somewhere - Hozier

 **Chapter 2: The Dragon**

"No dragon can resist the fascination of riddling talk and of wasting time trying to understand it."  
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

* * *

A thin wail climbed behind her, triggering a wave of shrieks and sobs that rose and crashed over the play room. One voice, barely deeper than the rest, screamed a juvenile war cry. Piper spun just in time to catch Tom before he charged their unwelcome guests.

"Thomas!"

She hauled him back a step, wiry strength a few extra inches winning over his raw anger. All too aware of the cold eyes watching them, assessing them, she hissed in her charge's ear, "Take the children into the back bedroom. Keep them in there and try to calm them down, alright? You're in charge."

Tom's eyes flashed to hers, realization dawning. He was in charge because she was going to face the monsters. Because they didn't know where Christine was. Or Aesha. Or baby Allie. If Piper didn't come back, he had to take care of the others. They'd discussed this. As the oldest and the biggest, it was his responsibility to move the smaller kids to safety. In an emergency, he'd take lead and get them to St. Swithin's boys' home.

Piper clapped him gently upside the head. "Be smart." Pausing to give him a more meaningful look, she added, "Wait in the bedroom. I'll find Christine."

If she didn't, it was all up to him.

"Auntie Pi?" Beth called, voice wavering with tears.

It physically hurt to hear so much fear in her voice, but comforting her wasn't the fastest way to make this nightmare end. Piper turned away from the kids. She'd left her back to the enemy for too long. "Go with Tom, Little Bit."

Without waiting to hear Tom shoo the children out of immediate danger, she marched back up to the intruders and nodded towards the stairs. "Shall we go down to the kitchen? You're scaring the children."

"Of course." Bane's voice warbled with a strange cadence, and Piper struggled to place the accent. It was unlike anything she'd ever heard. Bane graciously took half a step back, releasing one lapel to wave her through. "After you."

He didn't leave her enough room to pass easily, and she brushed up against his tactical vest as she squeezed by, his eyes laughing at her helplessness all the while. Only after she slipped through the narrow gap between giant and doorframe did she realize the shadow behind Bane was the asshole from the alley.

She didn't pretend to be happy to see him.

"Your manners haven't improved."

She didn't expect a reply, and she didn't get one, but that was fine, because she didn't stand around waiting for one. By the time she'd finished speaking, she'd trotted down the full flight of stairs. The men would follow her, and she clearly wasn't running, but she wanted the advantage of even a second alone with Christine. If she was even still in the house.

"This way," she called over her shoulder, moving straight back to the kitchen.

All three missing family members – four, counting Nana – sat huddled around the table. Shielded by the corner, Piper released a quick sigh of relief, simultaneously gesturing for them all to get up.

"Everyone's in the back bedroom upstairs," she said as Christine rose. "Tom will need your help, I think. They're…" she could feel the big shadow approaching behind her, "… pretty upset."

Christine nodded, clutching the dog's leash and Aesha's shoulder. This was the sort of thing they'd talked about. The same way families talked about fire escape plans. They did it to be smart, not because they ever expected it to really happen.

Her cousin's expression betrayed Bane's arrival the moment he appeared. Her jaw snapped shut and her eyes stretched open wide. The woman froze like a deer in headlights. Piper swooped down to pluck Allie from the floor, and the oblivious child giggled, repeating the aspirated "P" that was as close as she could get to "Pi," Piper's default nickname among the children.

"Pi's busy right now," she said, giving her a little tickle – just so she didn't pick up on the fear Christine emitted. She tried handing Allie off to Aesha, who was only just big enough to lug the toddler around in an awkward bear-hug. Allie wasn't having it. She grabbed fistfuls of Piper's hair and shrieked.

"Ba-Bean," Piper crooned, bouncing her, "you've got to go upstairs now. You wanna go with Nana?"

In response, Allie twined her little arms – hair still in her fists – around Piper's neck, burying her face in Piper's shoulder as she strangled her with her own hair. "No. P-h."

An experimental tug only brought Allie's arms tighter around Piper's neck, and she surrendered. Her stomach twisted into knots. She really didn't want the smallest, most breakable child in the house trapped in a room with Bane and his mercenary. If something happened, at least the kids upstairs had each other – and a head start.

Unfortunately, Allie wasn't giving her a choice. Making a scene would just add to the tension, and Piper desperately needed to defuse the situation before someone got hurt.

"Okay, okay." She shifted Allie onto one hip, and the death grip around her neck eased.

Christine still stood frozen.

"Nana."

Piper snapped her fingers. The mastiff immediately swiveled, ears perked. Piper pointed down the hall.

"Go. Tom."

Nana didn't hesitate. She lunged forward, eager to find the one boy big enough to roughhouse with her. Christine and Aesha followed, dragged in her wake. Piper listened to them thunder up the stairs, and then turned to take in the man who held them hostage.

He wasn't just big; he was well-armored, and that pissed her off more than anything else. She'd taken out plenty of tall men's ankles and knees. This man wore combat trousers with built-in knee pads and the stoutest looking combat boots she'd ever seen. The armored vest finished the look. He'd covered all the bits she would choose to introduce to her shillelagh. This was a smart man, an intelligent behemoth who clearly understood his size did not make him invincible. He enjoyed every advantage, while Piper stood there with her hair down, wearing bleach-spotted sweats and an old Nirvana t-shirt. Totally unarmed. With a one-and-a-half-year-old in her arms.

Danu, she was fucked.

"Would either of you like tea?"

Bane actually chuffed at her. His eyes, though still cold, wrinkled around the edges, implying a hidden smile. "None for me, thank you. Though," he glanced at the man beside him, "I'm sure Barsad would be grateful for your hospitality."

Piper couldn't help feeling like her 'hospitality' was a kind of diminutive punishment for the man she rescued. Anyway. At least now she knew his name.

She looked him up and down, looking for signs that his wound still bothered him. If she hadn't worn home the bloody shirt to prove he'd suffered a gunshot, she never would've guessed. But, then again, as she noted in the alley, this was a self-titled badass. He wouldn't broadcast his pain like the frightened citizens she bumped into on the street.

It didn't matter. She already knew the truth.

As the kettle heated, she dug through the cabinet with her free arm, picking through canisters, bottles, and sachets of herbs, oils, and tea leaves until she found the right ingredients.

"You returned something of great value to me."

A chair creaked, and Bane grunted as he lowered himself into it. Apparently, this wasn't going to be a short conversation.

Piper arranged her selections on the counter, focusing on the task at hand as a distraction from the menace building in the room. If she didn't look at him, she could pretend he wasn't really there. It was all just a horrific mental exercise in fear management and control.

"Is that what this is about?"

"In part." The man's twisted breathing rattled behind her, filling the silence as she fetched a mug.

"I prefer to look in a man's eye when I speak with him."

Piper's lips twitched, but she schooled her expression into something less likely to be taken as an insult before she turned on her heel to face him.

"I am no man."

Bane's gaze sharpened, but not in anger, and Piper wondered if he really was a reader. Maybe keeping the library open was more than just a public relations stunt.

"So I see," he drawled. "Yet – you face me as one."

"I'm afraid we'll have to agree to disagree on that front." The kettle whistled, and Piper moved to the stove, stalling the conversation. Even one-handed, however, she put the tea together quickly, and all too soon she faced her guests, ready to serve Barsad.

"For you." She held out the mug, but he only stared at it incredulously. Rolling her eyes, she took a quick mouthful. She made a show of swallowing and pushed the mug forward a second time. "It isn't poisoned."

Still wary, the heavy-lidded soldier looked to his leader. Bane nodded, and the mercenary accepted the cup with clear displeasure.

"What is it?"

"Green tea with ginger root extract and calendula," she said, turning to put away her supplies. Maybe they'd give her fortitude, peace, and strength through osmosis. "Good for healing wounds."

"Something you have experience with?" Bane rumbled.

Piper didn't turn around to answer. "More than I'd like." Then everything was put away, and she was out of excuses. The osmosis didn't take. Determination and hope it was, then.

She settled her back against the counter, watching Barsad grudgingly sip his tea while his leader stared down their host. Allie, watching it all with open curiosity, sat quietly in her arms. Christine finished the evening dishes just before Piper led the children upstairs, and they sat stacked on the far side of the sink, drying. Her cousin's current crochet project sat abandoned less than a foot from Bane's arm.

It was all so jarringly domestic. The homey touches accentuated the horror of Bane's ragged breathing, the bulk of his muscles and tactical gear, and the long-barreled gun resting over Barsad's shoulder. These two men did not belong here, with their weapons and brawn, but Piper had no way to eject them from the scene.

Fear crept up her throat as anger smoldered in her belly. The juxtaposition made her nauseated. What had she done to deserve this?

She was an idealist, but she wasn't stupid. It still felt tremendously unfair that saving a man's life brought the devil to her doorstep. The injustice chafed.

Apparently she wasn't the only one with questions.

"Why?"

Bane's question jolted her attention back to his eyes. His voice almost warbled through the mask, rich with meaning and intent. Even that single word carried an incredible weight, sharpened by the man's careful diction and elusive accent. It was a strange voice, but it suited those shrewd eyes.

"I'm afraid," she said carefully, "that if I'm honest, my answers won't please you."

"What makes you fear so?" he replied, drawing out the word _fear_ like it was the name of a close friend.

Piper nodded at Barsad. "I already told him why I stepped in, but since you're here, you must not be satisfied."

Bane leaned back in the chair, sliding one foot forward to balance himself. It left even less room for Piper to stand in.

"He said you call yourself a pacifist, even though you carry a weapon. He also said you do not support Gotham's liberation, but you chose to attack the Gothamite rather than my soldier."

There were things he wasn't saying. She'd always been good at reading people, and although Bane was many fearsome things, he wasn't a terribly great liar. His tone was too animated, the same way he was when he stood in front of the cameras, putting on a show. After their brief interactions, Piper already heard the differences. His expressive eyes betrayed him, too.

Maybe saving Barsad put her on his radar, but something else motivated this visit. If he wasn't going to tell the whole truth, then why should she expound on her personal beliefs? That would set a very dangerous precedent between them. She would have to hold her cards close to the chest without annoying Gotham's dictator. A delicate balancing act complicated by the baby in her arms and the frightened children over their heads.

Blunted sarcasm seemed like a reasonable tactic. For now, at least.

"You said we could do as we please." She shrugged. "I just _please_ to do things a little differently."

His words. His promise. She wielded them as a shield.

With those little wrinkles growing around his eyes again, he tilted back his head and asked in a voice booming with restrained laughter, "Who am I to stand against the wishes of the people?"

His chin angled back down, and he pinned her with his cold stare. Confirmation that he recognized the game they were playing. And his confidence in his advantage.

"My new recruits respect you. I may have a use for your talents." He gestured to the child on her hip. "If your time allows."

"I won't take up arms," Piper said quickly. "I only use the shillelagh for emergencies. No guns."

He waved off her concerns. "I would not ask you to." His tone turned lazy. "There are others with far greater skills in my army."

It wasn't quite a threat, but it was hardly a comfort, especially when Barsad smirked at her from the doorway. Piper glanced between the two of them, unconsciously tightening her grip on Allie as she tried to riddle out Bane's interest. He had no idea of her background – Christine was the only one in Gotham with the full story. What use could a little pacifist with a stick possibly be, even if the majority of his Blackgate recruits respected her?

"Come to the courthouse tomorrow." He leveraged himself up from the chair with a deep grunt that strained into his words. "I believe you know the way."

Frustrated with Piper's smothering grip, Allie wiggled and thrashed. Piper juggled her desperately, trying to keep her in her arms even as she knelt to avoid a dangerous spill. Determined, Allie broke her hold and tottered free. Piper made a grab for her, but she was off-balance, and Allie had summoned the magical speed of small children to get out of reach in .45 seconds flat.

It wouldn't have been a problem if it weren't for their present company. Christine didn't have a large kitchen. Allie cleared the distance between herself and her target before Piper could do more than choke on a garbled exclamation.

Then it happened.

Allie stared up at Bane, stretched out her arms with the demanding surety only small children possessed, and said, "Up."

Bane looked down at the little girl. Piper held her breath. Allie was so fucking small for her age. A premie, she had yet to enjoy the growth spurt most toddlers enjoyed after their first birthday. Delicate. _Tiny_. She couldn't help imagining what damage Bane could do just by _stepping_ on her with those heavy-soled boots.

The monster locked eyes with the child, and the child held his gaze like she had every right to command him.

The images from television played behind Piper's eyes. Bane with a nuclear bomb. Bane snapping a man's neck with his hands. Bane blasting open the prison gates. Hurting, killing, destroying.

What would he do with a child too young to even understand who and what he was? Who couldn't know he was the reason her mother never returned to pick her up from daycare?

Impossibly, he lifted her into his arms. Those brutal hands gently hoisted her so her legs pressed against the metal and straps of his bulletproof vest. His mask angled down to he could maintain eye contact, and even though she couldn't see his mouth, Piper knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was smiling.

She wanted to laugh, scream, and cry all at once. Relief. Disbelief. Horror and disgust. They all spun up from her chest, clogging in her throat so none could break free. She couldn't look away. Just a few minutes ago, she thought she knew true terror. She'd been wrong.

"Curious, little one?" he asked.

Allie, still at the age where half her words made no goddamn sense to adults, said something bright and friendly. Piper took one deep breath. It almost left as a whimper. Bane looked down at her, where she still crouched on the floor.

"What is her name?"

"Allie," Piper said lowly. It sounded like defeat, but it was the best she could do without growling at him like Nana.

Bane nodded, eyes back on his unwitting hostage. "Yours?"

Desperate, Piper snatched at the opportunity for humor. She snorted.

"No. I'm not really the maternal type."

Bane arched an eyebrow, his full attention returning to her. "I'm sure you will understand, I find that difficult to believe."

Piper shook her head emphatically, pushing herself to her feet as sarcasm and pride muted her panic.

"All these kids? Not mine. One is Christine's." No need to give him more details about Little Bit than necessary. Clearly he understood her weaknesses.

"And how did you come by such a… collection?"

He still held Allie – who was looking at his mask with alarming intent. Piper answered quickly.

"Christine ran a home-based daycare. Most were here when the bridges came down. No one came to pick them up."

Bane seemed to find something humorous about this. Or vindicating. His eyes lit up. "Parents abandoned their own children? So quickly?"

Honestly, those thoughts floated through her own head during those first few, terrible days. But she felt the urge to defend the absentee parents. They couldn't all be monsters.

"Lots of people work across the river. People died in the explosions, too. We can't know why some of the parents never came back."

"Naturally." Bane looked back at the child he held, his eyes colder, more distant. "A shame."

He held her out, and Piper all but snatched her from his arms.

"I do hope to see you tomorrow, Miss Bachman."

He left.

Piper didn't walk the men out. She stood in the kitchen, clutching a very confused Allie to her chest with her eyes closed and her nose buried in the baby's hair. She was safe. They were all safe. Bane hadn't hurt her. His hands hadn't left smears of blood or broken little bones.

 _Fuck_.

The front door closed with a bang, and little feet moved over creaking floorboards upstairs.

She needed to pull herself together. Christine needed her. So did the kids. If she fell apart, they all would. Dragging in one more deep breath, taking comfort in Allie's bemused murmurs and comforting pats, she gathered her courage from where it had scattered across the kitchen floor.

She would need it all in the morning.

* * *

They didn't sleep that night. Christine sat up with her in the living room, eager to escape the lingering miasma of fear in the kitchen. Once they tucked the children into bed, offering them an extra few paragraphs of _The Hobbit_ to calm them down, they landed on the couch. Linked from shoulders to feet, pressed close for comfort, like rabbits.

Piper told Christine Bane's request. She didn't tell her that he held little Allie, who Christine had watched for essentially her entire life. Her hand wandered to her cousin's belly, and Christine's rested over it.

They had come so close to losing so much.

Neither could openly address it.

It was a deep wound, but one that would keep until they lived in a friendlier world with shrinks and pills and concerned family members who would tut over them and offer hot chocolate as they cried.

For now, there were monsters to face.

Piper rose from the couch when world outside began to brighten. In the predawn gloom, she bathed, dressed, and made herself tea. There wasn't time for ritual or prayers. Only practicality. When she stepped back into the entryway hall, however, Christine stood waiting for her, lashes glittering with half-shed tears.

"Don't go."

Christine pressed her hands to the sides of Piper's face, cupped around her ears, like she'd need the grip to help lock her in place.

"Okay? Just…"

She licked her lips anxiously, and Piper suddenly remembered the fact that they were running out of lip balm, and her cousin was going to need more very soon, and that felt far too banal and important to make sense anymore.

"Just stay here today. We'll make do. _Everyone_ will make do. No one needs you today but us. But _me_. Just stay, okay? Please?" Her voice caught on the last word, and the glittering fringe of tears began rolling free.

She made it sound like there was a choice, like Piper had options. But the police were all underground, and the ones that survived went into hiding. Sure, lots of men from Blackpool felt they owed her something, but they wouldn't turn on Bane for her – and that was a battle they couldn't fight on their own. _Piper_ couldn't fight that battle on her own. There was no other choice, no matter how many stars Christine wished on.

Tenderly, she stroked both of the hands now slipping to tangle in her hair. It was almost a threat to keep her home with force, but Piper knew her cousin far too well to buy into a lie like that. This was just fear. She was clinging to her only remaining support like a life preserver in the Atlantic. The world was cold and dark, but Piper was a familiar, safe thing to buoy her up. Sadly, in order for Piper to fulfill that crucial role, Christine would have to let go. She wrapped her hands around Christine's and pulled them free, holding them together between their chests, like they were praying together.

"He's only playing at manners, Chrissy. He doesn't make requests, and he doesn't issue _invitations_. He knows where we live. He knows about the kids. This isn't a choice."

Christine clearly couldn't answer her, so Piper didn't wait for her blessing. Kissing her hands, she let go, stepped around her, and opened the door.

* * *

 **A/N: Blech. Bad week. Two people died. One a friend's mom who's been around since I was a kid. One a baby girl. Mom had surgery and looks like someone slit her throat, which is fucking with my head, because I can't stop connecting that with my friend's mom (who died from cancer, but my head doesn't give a fuck).  
**

 _ **Obvious** **Things**_ **gets its update tonight!**

 **Thoughts on the story thus far? Love it? Hate it? Have questions? Give me a shout!**


	3. Cold Dawn

Chapter Playlist:

"Zombie" - The Cranberries

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Cold Dawn**

"Going on from there was the bravest thing he ever did... He fought the real battle in the tunnel alone, before he ever saw the vast danger that lay in wait."  
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

* * *

She started her trek before the sun climbed over the bay, and the predawn blue tinged her skin beautiful, deathly hues.

Days like these, when diffuse light filled the streets, the city looked like an underwater marvel. Still, quiet, at rest. The night's predators, scared off by the light, retreated to their lairs, and most of the daytime revolutionaries still enjoyed an indolent snooze in stolen beds. Honestly, Bane's mercs were the city's only reliable early risers, and they were very orderly in their horror. Even in the midst of a siege, the wee hours offered an opportunity for introspection.

Usually, Piper settled herself on the roof at this time, taking a precious few minutes to enjoy a cup of tea and some meditation before the children stirred and all hell broke loose.

But Bane saw fit to steal that from her, too.

He hadn't set an hour to appear, but it was a long walk downtown, and Piper knew better than to keep a dictator waiting.

Besides, the sooner she arrived, the sooner she could leave. It was bath night. Christine would need her help desperately.

She shuddered as she passed a tremendous pile of rubbish in front of a shattered five star hotel.

Piper would need a bath herself by the time she got back. Although autumn deepened faster than expected, the cold air hadn't frozen away the rank scents of a decomposing metropolis. No one picked up the trash, and it built up in basements, alleys, and unofficial dumps all around the city. That went without mentioning the dead bodies. Everyone in Gotham knew what a decomposing corpse smelled like now. Even though Bane kept official executions fairly tidy with his "exile" option, plenty of death haunted the city streets. Most of his followers didn't care to wait for a trial, and mercenaries didn't hesitate to put down anyone who may constitute a threat. Then there was the gang violence and outright murder.

At least this was a world she understood, more or less.

When she first returned from overseas, she suffered from excessive culture shock, and without Christine and her husband, Jesse, to lean on she might not have stayed. She never expected Gotham to welcome her back, but she'd hoped to at least fit the city again. She should've known better. The police shipped her off as a broken shell, full of gaping tears and widening cracks.

Cara filled those holes with rainy days, magic, and bruises from a shillelagh. Piper's new shape simply couldn't match the little hole she'd left in her family's lives, in her friends' and contacts' lives. Before Piper returned to Gotham, Cara warned her that she would not return to a home she knew. Whether that insight came from personal experience or her cards, Piper didn't know. But it was true as hell.

A few flaming cars warmed her as she passed by, and she picked up the pace as she slipped past the block where she first met Bane's second – Barsad – trotting along with her hands deep in her pockets. Disputed territory always saw the most violence, and the Jokerz rarely gave up streets without a whole lot of bloodshed. She really didn't have time to die today.

Soon enough, she spotted the first mercenary patrols. They let her pass in peace, even though she still had her shillelagh tied to her back. With their great big guns, how scary could a little girl with a stick really be?

The avenue in front of the courthouse echoed with her footsteps as she neared the heart of Bane's territory. It couldn't be more different from the heaving mass of bodies Piper saw when she last visited. A few men stood on guard, but only discarded newspapers and empty bags rolled like tumble weeds through the street as the sun warmed up a breeze from the bay. Above them all, the spires of the tallest skyscrapers glowed with the sunrise, each peak sharply cut off from the shadows below in hard, unyielding lines, like a logical Escher drawing.

As she grew closer and closer to the front steps of Bane's hall of "justice," the guards watched her more carefully.

Bane's new world was a starkly masculine empire, and it was no place for little girls. Piper kept her back straight, but avoided eye contact. She doubted any of these men would try jumping her while on duty, but this set up made her entirely too damn memorable. Sometimes, that worked in her favor, but she doubted Bane would arrange a meeting that played in any way to her advantage. Maybe she should've waited a few hours, used the mob to move around a little more discretely.

Too late now.

She trotted up the stairs with a bounce in her step, fully embracing the ideology of faking it until she made it. All night, she'd fixated on the vision of Bane's great hands wrapped around itty bitty Allie. If she could keep those hands her precious Ba-Bean, off of Little Bit, Aesha, Zap, Tom, Christine, and all the others, then it didn't matter if those hands turned against her. She knew her own strength, and she trusted it. One way or another, she'd accomplish what she set out to do, and that was all that really mattered.

Head held high, she greeted the two mercenaries guarding the closed doors.

"Morning. I have an appointment."

They didn't sneer, but their stone faces didn't exactly melt into welcoming smiles, either. Silent, they waited for additional information. It seemed like a strange thing to lie about, but they were guards for a reason.

References always helped her get into the offices of the men in charge before. Maybe she needed to wield them now.

"Could you please let Barsad know I'm here?"

Whether it was the request for practical validation or the fact that she knew their boss's name, Piper couldn't tell, but one nodded to the other and ducked inside, leaving her alone with his buddy.

Well. The games of authority never changed. All you needed in the world was the right name to open doors for you.

For once, she didn't try to make conversation. She took a step and a half to the side, leaving the path clear for anyone else who needed to come or go, but the steps remained eerily still as she waited for the soldier's return. No one came. No one left. The guards didn't even shift from foot to foot as they stood watching the block. Piper found it lifelessly tense. A needless threat to an empty street. A bunch of angry men. Standing around. Looking scary. She thought of Bane, sitting in her kitchen chair with his leg stretched out, totally at ease and ready to raze her home to the ground. He carried the same stillness, the same tense energy that waited, bottled up and ready to explode.

It felt like she was in a staring contest. She had no intention of blinking first. But she didn't let the taut energy infect her, either. Leaning against a column, she crossed her ankles and relaxed. Her shoulders dropped, her fingers uncurled from the half-formed firsts she hadn't intentionally formed, and her breaths grew deep and even. As she watched the door, waiting for permission to enter, she caught up on a bit of light meditation Bane had stolen from her with his summons.

She didn't do it to piss anyone off, but she couldn't help enjoying the disgruntled look on Barsad's face when he finally reappeared with the guard.

He must've left her waiting on purpose. To make her nervous. Invalidate her authority. An old trick. He'd have to do better if he wanted to ruffle her feathers.

She smiled at him. "Your boss didn't give me a time to appear. Thought it was better to be a bit early than a little late. I hope I didn't wake you."

Those lazy blue eyes blinked.

"No."

He turned on his heel, leaving her to follow or be left behind. She kept pace easily, admiring the changes to the courthouse with disgust. Lots of guards milled around, preparing for another day of show trials and neat executions. A pen of barbed wire sat down a flight of stairs, littered with fur wraps, designer coats, sparkling bits of jewelry, and several expensive children's toys.

Piper battled down a sneer at her escort's back. Men like this were always the same. Gather the blame for a broken society, heap it on a few, and pretend bloodshed would suddenly produce more food, an equitable economy, fair housing, and an end to segregation and discrimination. All of their problems could be solved – if only those other people would just die.

Piper wondered what she would do if she didn't have a family to protect. Would she run up and fill the strange tanks' gas cans with salt and sand? Would she try to organize a movement of social disobedience?

But she wouldn't. She was selfish. Selfish and practical. Sabotage wasn't a bad idea, but she had no doubt Bane would give the order to run over protesters sitting in the street.

Then she'd have more lost worlds to mourn.

Barsad led her up a flight of stairs to the second level. Office doors with broken windows marked a trail of violent political change, and although the mercenaries had cleaned things up fairly well, they hadn't bothered scrubbing the blood from the walls, or picking up the tossed files littering deserted offices. But Bane's second opened the door at the end of hall, stepping out of the way to nod her through, and it was like night and day. The marble floor was so clean it gleamed, no refuse huddled in the corners, and the great mahogany desk sitting front and center came through the troubles with nothing more than a few shallow scratches.

The frigid luxury felt cheap in Bane's shadow. He stood at the broad windows, peering over his conquest with his back to the door and his hands holding the lapels of that big fucking coat.

The door closed behind her, and Piper didn't have to turn to know Barsad had not followed her in to witness this interview.

Apparently, Bane didn't need to turn to know she was standing in his office, either.

"I see you are an early riser. A fine habit." He turned his head just enough for his eyes to track around and catch hers. "Miss Bachman."

He looked especially big and threatening, everything from his flared collar to the angle of his head made to intimidate. But Piper doubted he would go to the trouble of calling her out for a meeting just to break her neck. Especially when he could have snapped it the night before.

Looking back to the view – and freeing Piper of his direct attention – he asked, "How do you find the recent changes to your city?"

Now, there was a loaded question. Her hands slipped into her pockets again, a self-conscious tell she was all too aware of. She shrugged. He couldn't see it, but Piper spoke as much with her body as her voice.

"You seem very keen on tearing down the old world, but not terribly interested in building a new one. People are going to starve."

Bane waved to the view. "The world is built. All we must do is… occupy it. But we will not let Gotham starve, as you fear." He turned, fully this time, and took a swaggering step towards the desk. "That is why I requested your services."

Piper regarded this sudden change with suspicion. She had many talents. Bane knew of exactly none of them. Besides her character voices for _The Hobbit_.

"I'm not sure how I can be of use."

"As I said, you have many men's respect, and I do not think they would surrender it to a coward. If a man points a gun at you, I believe you will be able to manage the situation."

"And if I get shot it's no concern of yours."

His brows furrowed around the thick strap dividing his forehead. "You do not believe Gotham's liberators care for the people?"

She could be honest, or she could grovel. Judging by his tone, he was almost… teasing. He wanted to bait her into something.

Fine.

She deliberately loosed the single button she'd fixed on her jacket and let if fall open, flapping her hand by her face like she was overheated. Her breath left mist in the air, but she had a point to make.

Bane's eyes traced over her chest, and she held still, ensuring he read the script twined through the flowers printed on her t-shirt.

 _I am no man._

An ode to their previous conversation. And a statement of her position. She might as well have walked into the room and flipped him the bird.

"No," she finally answered. "I really don't. Destruction does not equate transformation."

He went very still, and she ducked her head, looking at him through her lashes. Playing the game.

"Please forgive my straightforwardness. I have a house full of hungry kids, and as your second can attest, I see plenty of violence on the streets. I don't exactly have a lot of hope for your… policies."

Bane looked down at her as the temperature in the room seemed to drop. Piper couldn't tell if she'd overstepped, but she needed to push – just a bit – to figure out where the boundaries stood. If she went too far, no doubt Bane would let her know. Probably by snapping her neck. Hopefully, even though she didn't understand why, he really had summoned her because he wanted her for something.

Useful and impertinent women tended to survive longer than useless impertinent women. She kept her head down, just in case. Better to look submissive in this moment.

"Hope…" He nodded, almost like a boxer entering the ring to hype up for a fight. "I understand the value of the people's hope, Miss Bachman, more than you can understand. They will need it, especially in the long, dark winter to come."

Again with the vague answers. Piper did not want to stay. She wanted to leave. But she needed the big brute to give her some marching orders first so she could stay in his good graces. If he had any.

"I don't know you," she said, letting caution slow her words, "but I've seen how you operate, and you're very good at getting other people to do hard jobs for you. The rest of the world keeps the populace locked in the city for fear of the bomb. Angry prisoners give you a ready – and expendable – force to supplement your mercenaries."

He held her gaze, and she refused to let their flat chill deter her. He said she wasn't a coward. She would give him a taste of why so many men from Blackgate respected her.

"This will be much easier if you just tell me what it is you want me to do."

He reared back a little and made a sound. Mocking, surprised, angry? She couldn't tell.

Damn his mask to hell.

"Very well. I will be blunt."

He set his hands on the desk, bowing over it like a titan.

"As you say, the people of Gotham will starve without some kind of civil structure. Although all are _free_ to do as they please, I presume the majority would prefer to eat."

Lured by his lowered stature, Piper came a step closer. Bane encouraged her, pushing forward a map and a very long list with several stapled pages. She picked them up, letting the data distract her from the proximity of Gotham's "liberator."

She murmured to herself as she flipped through the information. "Red Cross, UNICEF, FEMA…" She glanced up, thoroughly confused. But the answer came even as she prepared her question. "Relief supplies."

"Yes." Bane watched her like a snake. "They have all volunteered outside aid, and I have agreed to accept their offerings – given certain conditions. There is plenty to feed Gotham and keep the people fighting through the winter, but none of my men have the local connections I need for efficient distribution."

For a minute, Piper only blinked, utterly surprised.

Not only was the mercenary willing to feed the people, but he was willing to recruit an outsider to ensure he did it well.

This was not what she had expected.

What she _expected_.

Ah, fuck. There she went again, letting her pride blind her. This was a terribly dangerous individual. She could not and should not expect anything.

Smiling, she nodded her assent. "I'm happy to assist. Do you want information, or…?"

"More than that, I fear." Bane straightened, and although he made no move against her, Piper couldn't help feeling like he'd lured her into a trap. "You will be my civilian liaison. The people will come to you, and you will come to me. You will oversee food distribution, ensure adequate shelter is available, and perform any other task I or the citizens require."

With every item on his little list, he took a step around the table. Piper refused to shrink away, and by the time he finished speaking, they were chest to chest. Figuratively. He stood more than a full head over her. Although she had to crane her neck to maintain eye contact, she didn't let it slip.

Challenge or intimidation tactic, backing down now would count against her; she could feel it.

"I can do that."

His eyes flashed, and the brightness lingered, blazing across his face. His voice carried a smile.

"Good!"

He dropped a hand on her shoulder, hard enough to bruise, and Piper nearly staggered under the weight. It was so simple to reassert his dominance here. He held all the power – not just politically, but physically. If he chose, she had no doubt he could snap a bone. She'd seen him do it, after all. The entire world had.

Her reaction clearly pleased Bane. His fingers flexed into her skin, deepening tomorrow's marks. He drew her a little nearer, creating a perfect illusion of camaraderie. A close, tidy kind of threat.

"I will have your friends from the library arrange things."

What the hell had he done to George? Had he –

Oh.

Cold, dispassionate understanding dawned.

"So that's how you knew where I lived."

Now he was definitely smiling. Releasing her, he moved back to the window. "You begin tomorrow. Good day, Miss Bachman."

"Good day, Mr. Bane."

She could feel him watching her through the glass's reflection as she left the office. The invisible spiders crawling up and down her neck almost convinced her to look back. But cool people never looked at explosions, and that man was a ticking time bomb.

* * *

Bane knew his presence was no gift. If he cared enough for a thriving village, worthy adversary, or innocent bystander, he kept his time with them brief. He only bestowed his hours generously to those things he meant to break. The darkness poisoned his soul long ago, and he found that poison now leaked from his shadow, inking a diffuse trail of fear and agony wherever he lingered. He was never meant for the light, and he found the illuminated world almost repulsively fragile.

Until the little idiot walked into the courthouse with that rebellious shirt, he hadn't determined whether or not to use her as a distraction as well as a tool. But now his mind was made. He had a use for her, of course. Some useful things also made marvelous diversions, especially in the long, dull months of a siege. He would enjoy breaking this childless mother.

He watched her march down the front steps and away down the street from his place on high, turning over the little puzzles she made for him. The girl was well-spoken, especially considering how she dressed, and she had a clear love of books. He could respect both attributes, but he couldn't resolve them with her bizarre confidence. Gotham's most powerful men had wept and soiled themselves at his feet. Even when he entered her home and held one of the little souls she sheltered, she had not pleaded.

It was almost like she knew it would be useless.

What a strange thing for a woman in this city to know.

And then there was her cabinet full of herbs and the healing brew she gave his second.

Truly a puzzle.

And useful, too. A charming trait.

Barsad knocked, and Bane gave him permission to enter without turning away from the glass. The girl was already out of sight, but the city's broken skyline brought him a measure of satisfaction.

"Sir."

Bane waved impatiently. "Share your thoughts, brother."

"Should I have the little fool followed?"

"Perhaps later." Bane counted the men in orange joining his mercenaries in the street below. "She will be close for now, and I plan to make good use of your fool."

The little pacifist had the respect of bad men fueled by anger. Eventually, he knew, righteous convictions would crumble into doubt. His new army would feud, remember their old quarrels from their prison days and make Bane's rule unnecessarily complicated. But a little hope in a new justice would drive men to follow orders to kill thousands. Hope that they were not truly evil, that they served some greater purpose. He would need to do very little. Already, he saw pieces moving into place. Barsad's accident had become the cause's opportunity.

His second did not ask unnecessary questions. He sought his orders, and he followed them.

"Yes, sir."

That didn't mean the man wasn't curious. And doubtless he would see much of the little pacifist in the coming days as well. Bane saw no reason to withhold the truth.

He hummed low in his throat, glaring at the rising light. One less day for the people of Gotham.

"Her hope will break men's hearts."

* * *

 **A/N: Thank you all for the awesome reviews! They helped motivate me a lot. I've had one of the worst months of my life. No one else died, thankfully, but I basically lost years of personal progress in one fell swoop. Oh well.**

 **I am trying to crank out another update this week (for both my Bane fics), because I am doing NaNoWriMo this year to help build my personal discipline. I am working on an original story, so I shan't be about for a bit. So help me leave you with some goodies to enjoy while I'm away!**

 **I forgot to say in the first chapter notes, but the title of this fic comes from this chapter's soundtrack song, "Zombie."**

 **Replies to Anons:**

 **Guest (Sept. 15th): Thankies muches! Researching him gives me an excuse to watch his scenes an unhealthy number of times. ;)**

 **Guest (Sept. 16th): Why thank you! I am very, very glad you find it so engaging! Hope you enjoy the rest.**

 **Star: Huzzah! That warms me down to my frigid little toes. I hope this chapter pleased you.**


	4. Third Time's a Drag

chapter songs:

"Propaganda" - Muse

"The Disappearance of the Girl" - Phidel

 **Chapter 4: Third Time's a Drag**

"That was the most awkward Wednesday he ever remembered."  
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

Piper's racing thoughts left her dizzy.

Or maybe the fading adrenaline from her encounter with Bane unbalanced her.

Regardless, she didn't pay half as much attention on the way home as she should have. Although no bandits jumped out from behind dumpsters and no laughing catcalls echoed after her, she chastised herself as she turned onto her own street. As a woman, she already faced greater risk in Bane's Gotham than half the population. When she gathered supplies, that threat increased. With access to an entire city's worth of food, plenty of desperate people would come after her.

She should've stayed and talked to George. Protection – for both food and distributors – was the key to success, and still trusted him more than most of her friends in orange.

Well. She would make a point to go see him _very_ early in the morning. While she couldn't fault him for folding under pressure from Bane and spilling a few of her beans, she wasn't above some petty revenge.

Working with Bane demanded a release of some kind, anyway…

She reached the front door and froze. Everything caught up with her at once, and it took a minute to start breathing again. How long would her work days be? Should she take sleeping supplies with her? Could she trust anyone to check in on Chrissy and the kids from time to time if – _when_ – Bane made it impossible to do so? Did she have to see Bane every day, or would he fuck off and leave her well enough alone for her regular tasks?

Question after question pounded behind her eyes, and a rising headache provided the only answer.

She would have to wing it. Prepare, but still think on her feet.

Shit.

If Bane didn't kill her, Christine definitely would.

As she stood stewing on the doorstep, a piercing scream behind the door broke the silence of the street.

Piper grabbed the knob, surprised, annoyed, and somewhat relieved to find it still locked. If someone made it inside and locked the door behind them, then every moment counted, but at least the door still stood. No one had broken it down while she was away.

She fished out her keys and had the door open in five seconds, but each second felt like an hour. The warm entry way embraced her, but she stood like an idiot with the door open, letting that precious heat out, as she took in the scene.

No break in. No men with guns. No men at all.

All was well.

Except that Zachariah had somehow managed to trap his head in the banister.

Chrissy, evidently trying to comfort him after an attempt to push his head back through, was comforting the little boy. She ran her palm over his hair as she murmured something low and sweet by his ear. Five of the other children sat around, gasping and cackling at the scene.

A jar of petroleum jelly balanced at a jaunty angle between a couple other railings. Zach's neck and ears gleamed with the stuff.

Piper sighed, physically deflating as she closed the door.

She walked over to her cousin and squatted down to catch Zach's eye.

"I'm not going to ask why, but I feel I must ask how. How have you done this?"

Big bottom lip all a-tremble, he blubbered, "I wanted to, and I did it."

Piper hummed, nodding, feeling far more sympathetic than she really should at her age. "And now you're stuck."

The lip wobbled dangerously. "Ye-es." He sniffed and a fat tear rolled down his cheek.

Well fuck if she didn't know how that felt. She laughed in spite of herself, much to Zachariah's shock and displeasure.

"Oh, honey," Piper chuckled, stroking his jelly-laced hair back from his forehead, "I'm not laughing at you. Believe it or not, this actually made my day a _million_ times better."

"Piper," Christine said. "I've tried greasing him out, but it isn't working. Do you think we need to cut the banister?"

"Nah." Piper surreptitiously wiped her fingers on her pants, studying the problem. It was a tight fit for sure, but she'd learned the hard way that getting one's head out of a tight situation was all about finding the right angle. It looked like Christine had tried pushing him straight back. That would never work. There was a jaw in the way.

"Aesha, Tom! Come here!"

They popped up from nowhere, clearly practicing their disappearing skills in preparation for their teenager-dom. She pointed to the rails on either side of Zach's head.

"Pull on those, kay?"

They each latched on, careful to avoid the slippery goo lower down the posts. As they started yanking, Piper snatched Zach's head, angled it up, and shoved it through, mindful of his darling (massive) ears.

The damn burst the second he was free and his wobbly chin dropped open to free his wails. Christine swung around the banister to snatch him up. She had everything under control in mere moments, bouncing the boy on her hip as she shushed him, petted his hair, and ignored the petroleum jelly smearing over the shoulder of her blouse. Then she looked over at Piper, and she knew her mercy period was over. Time to talk.

Then Beth saved the day.

"I'm your golden egg, and I'm rotting!"

Everyone turned to see the child's head poking out of the living room, the very picture of impatience. Aesha and Tom hurried after her, ready to finish whatever imaginary adventure they'd been playing before Piper –so rudely- interrupted.

Zach had calmed down, and the rest of the house was moving back to whatever they'd been doing before the preschooler's situation became the event of the hour.

The happy chaos, the idea that she was afraid of conversing with her cousin after the morning's interview, and then the rotting golden egg.

That was it.

That was all it took.

She collapsed, howling with laughter. It felt marvelous. As her legs folded and her back slid down the wall, her confusion and angst shrank in the light of the children's careless optimism.

It was all so ridiculous, anyway.

Nana lumbered over, heavy tail swinging with enough force to send a preschooler stumbling. Piper only just tilted her chin up in time for the beast's tongue to swipe along her jaw rather than her mouth.

Christine looked at her like she was insane.

"What happened out there?"

Piper, diaphragm still trembling, gasped for breath and wiped her eyes.

"Ahhh. Ask me later."

* * *

Piper did not want to speak to Pastor Jeff, but she didn't really have a choice. If she had a choice, she would've stayed on the entry way floor, giggling until she snorted and playing fetch with Nana.

Alas. All good things must come to an end.

She had no idea what the next day, her first as Bane's civilian liaison, would bring. So, she needed to get as many problems sorted today as possible. She still had a few hours before it got dark – plenty of time to walk to the old church. Spending them at home would be a waste. Anyway, this could benefit her new cause. Two birds, one stone, and all that.

The church had enjoyed several facelifts over the past few decades, but it still looked out of place amid the gothic revival and modern, glass confections of Gotham's prevailing architecture. It looked like something you'd see in the country. A white building with a spire and few secondary wings added haphazardly to the back and side sat like a fat dove surrounded by pigeon-grey apartment complexes and shops.

Maybe it looked charming.

Piper carried far too much bias to notice.

Bane's occupation hadn't passed this icon of traditional, staid beliefs. A couple of the intricate stained glass windows were covered by boards – likely smashed in the early riots. Letters lay scattered around the street-side announcement board. Some smart ass had salvaged a few to spell "dick" where the board once shared marriage announcements and service times.

Still, the doors remained open and unbarred. Piper pushed through easily, and the sanctuary echoed her heavy footsteps warmly. There was nothing ominous about the place. It couldn't be threatening if it tried.

That didn't mean it couldn't be cruel.

A few groups of shivering families and weeping singles dotted the pews, but Piper firmly ignored them in favor of the man speaking with a couple near the front of the church. She didn't want to faces she used to know.

She waited a few steps away until Pastor Jeff finished up his conversation, and she didn't answer his welcoming smile when he spotted her.

"Piper! I'm so glad you came."

"We need to talk."

To his credit, Pastor Jeff didn't flinch away from her chilly tone. He nodded and led the way to his office, greeting church members and refugees as they passed. Piper wished he still had his old office just off the sanctuary. Now they had to go through the old children's area with its red carpets worn down to stubble and the archaic murals of smiling animals on Noah's ark. Sunday school classrooms now held piles of blankets and low cots, nearly all of which sheltered sleeping bodies.

She wasn't happy about being there, but Piper couldn't deny the spark of pride she felt for her old church. They did more than most. They always had.

The office door shut and the questions began.

"How are Christine and Beth?" Pastor Jeff asked, moving around his desk.

"They're doing well, all things considered." Piper paused. "I'm sure they'd be here if it weren't for Christine's other obligations."

"Of course. Please send her my best."

Piper nodded her assent. Just because she'd cut off her gangrenous affiliation with the church didn't mean the connection wasn't a good thing for her cousin.

"And you? How have you been?" A twinkle lit the man's eye. "Have these dark times brought you back to the fold?"

 _Now_ Piper smiled. "Oh, hell no."

"Well, at least you're here, right?" He pulled out a notebook filled with numbers, names, and addresses. Time to get down to business. "A lot of our families brought in extra blankets. We already had the ones we'd gathered for our usual winter homeless donations, of course, so we have more than we could ever possibly need. Do you have any connections who could use some?"

"Honestly? No." The thing about being locked in a big city full of department stores, second hand shops, shipping centers, and abandoned penthouses was that there wasn't much need for textile goods. "But there is a way we can help each other – and a lot of other people."

Pastor Jeff blinked slowly, clearly judging the situation by Piper's expression. "Yes?"

"Bane came to the house last night."

The man jerked to attention. "He didn't –"

"Like I said, everyone's fine. Or as fine as they can be. He was there for me. Apparently he has a _use_ for me."

"How does that help anyone?"

Piper rolled her eyes. Of course his mind went there first. He should've know better.

"He's tapped me as a kind of civilian liaison. I'll be working to gather information on basic needs – particularly food and medicine. I'll pass that information on, and then I'll manage distribution of whatever the relief organizations send."

Pastor Jeff sat back, eyes wide. "Praise God. Even if you've given up belief in Him, He clearly still has plans for you."

"Okay, yup, done now." Piper opened the door. "I've said what I had to say. Try to draw up some numbers for me and think about the best distribution points in the area. I was thinking your church might be a good one."

He leapt to his feet behind her, hurrying down the sad children's wing at her heels.

"Of course I will. Piper, you don't have to rush off. Stay. Have something to eat. Maybe –"

"I'm not here to socialize."

He caught her by the shoulder just as they reached the sanctuary.

She brushed his hand away and lifted her shillelagh to rest there instead. "Don't touch me, please."

Pastor Jeff tried to argue his point one more time. "You're always welcome here, Piper."

She smiled, big and toothy. "Yeah? Too bad my mom wasn't."

That brought a tidy end to their conversation and Piper marched away. She kept her eyes straight ahead until she was out the doors and back in the biting, late autumn air. The wind rushed up to meet her, slamming the doors shut. It smelled like rain.

She smiled.

Someone was jealous.

Leaves swirled at her feet, and an old newspaper tumbled across the church lawn. Refuse blended with religion, but nature swept it all away with a breath. It felt good to watch.

Piper turned toward home, hands in her pockets and a spring in her step, refreshed and ready for the night.

Then a deep rumbling shattered the little peace she'd found as one of Bane's high tech tanks and several pick-ups with rear-mounted guns rolled around the corner. A regular patrol. Piper knew how to handle those. She set down her shillelagh and kept her hands visible.

No fight here. Move along. Just a good little peasant doing peasanty things.

One of the men on the big guns kept his weapon aimed in her general direction as they passed, but they kept moving, and Piper turned her back to pick up her weapon with confidence.

Brakes screeched behind her, a man shouted, and she froze.

"Citizen!"

Well, fuck.

Piper spun on her heel, letting the shillelagh dangle limply, all big, innocent eyes and raised eyebrows.

 _Who, me?_

A man hopped out of the tank and waved her towards him with his gun. Piper didn't dawdle, but she moved carefully, ensuring no trigger-happy merc put a hole in her. Usually they didn't give a flying fuck about civilians with blunt-force weapons. Hell, they even encouraged it. Getting a patrol's attention for something so simple didn't seem right. But what else…

A towering figure emerged from the camo-patterned machine after Dude with Gun. There was no mistaking that coat.

As Bane descended from on high, Piper slowed her approach, glaring at her feet. What great and mighty spirit had she pissed off to earn the great _pleasure_ of seeing Bane twice in one day? She looked up into this glittering, beetle-like eyes and barely fought down the glowering pout trying to break out.

This was the third time she'd been face to face with the masked man, and it sure as hell was not a charm.

"Miss Bachman!" the titan said. "What a surprise. I thought you would be spending this day with your children."

This time Piper didn't try to hide her displeasure. Gotham's dictator was teasing her. Fine. He had just given her a little more leash to snark. After all, he'd set the tone of the conversation.

Still. He was very polite up until he snapped your neck.

She didn't know him well enough to push more than she had that morning, and she hoped she never would. And she was still wearing the t-shirt from that morning. Best to play it safe, then.

"I'm working with some of my contacts to get more information and scout for distribution points." It was the truth. The punk with the nose stud and the band shirts was working overtime.

He blinked once, slowly, and his hands lifted to his lapels. "A hard worker. Good. Very good."

Piper maintained eye contact, even though it grew almost physically painful as he spoke.

The wind rushed over them all, lifting her heavy braid, and her gaze lifted to the sky.

"Do you want me for something?"

Bane followed her eyes to the clouds.

"I have no further need of you today. The city seems determined to bring us together."

Piper laughed. "Oh, I have no illusions that you ever _needed_ me."

So it was a random stop then. Still. Patrolling her neck of the woods and then actually getting out to speak with her hinted at a hidden motive. He must want her paranoid. Being a woman in Gotham taught her that trick a long time ago, though. If she wasn't paranoid, she would never have survived her work over the past few years, either.

"How wise you are," Bane drawled. He brought his attention back to her face, and she didn't dare look anywhere but his eyes.

Danger there. Time to change gears.

She took a half step to the side, signifying her attention to leave. Dude with Gun lifted his weapon, but Bane waved him down. That was all the permission Piper needed. As she cautiously moved away – walking half backwards – she said, "A friendly word of advice - finish your rounds quickly. It's going to rain."

Bane's breath puffed through the mask as a heated fog.

"I think it is too cold for rain."

Piper shrugged.

"It will be a very cold rain."

* * *

 **A/N: There is no single excuse for my prolonged absence - rather there are many little ones. I am back, though, and I'll be updating more often if not regularly.**

 **This kind of ends the introductory period of the story. From here we get to start the shit I've been excited for!**

 _ **Reviews help!**_ **(I'm a shameless review slut. So what? Bite me... in a review.)**

 **Replies to Anons:**

 **Guest: Thanks for the review! Yeah, Bane definitely give her great choices. I'm aiming for fairly frequent interactions with Bane, so I hope you enjoy!**

 **Maribeth: Thankies! I like atmosphere. I do breathe it, after all.**


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